


The Boy of the House of Love

by il_miglior_fabbro



Category: GOT7
Genre: Basically Yugyeom is himself and that breaks BamBam, Fluff, Heavily inspired by Carter's writing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, This is a very obvious rewriting of 'The Lady of the House of Love' by Angela Carter, vampire!Bambam, why is that not already a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 22:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/il_miglior_fabbro/pseuds/il_miglior_fabbro
Summary: "Can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?" - 'The Lady of the House of Love', Angela Carter.





	The Boy of the House of Love

The house is tall and dark, a fixed presence that speaks of age and tradition. It looms over the boy with a grimace and demands for him to turn away with the creaking of its gates. The trees surrounding the house seem to edge farther away from the boy as he walks closer, as if the house were a predator and they the observers of carnivorous routine. He is oblivious to this; his thoughts are only of shelter from the storm whose beginnings he has read in the clouds. He is tall, wide-shouldered and fair; an average, if not handsome, boy. The boy reaches the door of the house and with a pause - as if the unknown land that lay beyond had only then become aware in the boy's mind - he knocked.

There is no response. The trees continue to whisper amongst themselves and the house continues to glower. A minute emotion forms itself in the furrowing of the boy's eyebrows before he is reaching to the handle and with a treacherous creak, the door is pushed open.

Immediately, the stink of corpses seeps into the atmosphere, escaping with the glee of a young child. The boy's face transforms into a mask of horror and he retches, a sickening sound that expels from his throat and lingers in the air. The breath before a storm.

The boy turns from the house, an instant reaction which he pauses in the middle of. A farrago of emotions pass, an inner argument which the boy settles with soft ease. Now, what will the winner here be? Cold rational thought or emotional digression?

He turns back to the house and, Oh, rationality has the upper hand. He walks back to the open door with hesitance clouding his features and purpose in his footsteps. A step is taken; he steps into the house.

The house welcomes its new prey; the wise trees shudder away.

\--

He is old, though his face looks barely past adolescence. No, the oldness is something which is settled farther than his youthful complexion. His shoulders are slouched with the heaviness of his existence. And what a dreadful existence it is! Filled with sorrow, his memories are. Filled with doom, his future waits. His is an existence of waiting. He spends his days in a sleep, though not of the body. No, this sleep is of the mind, of a dead heart, of a mechanism that functions only for its carnivorous routine.

His room is austere and reeks of an older time; of a time which only historians can identify. Plush mahogany furniture does nothing to soften the sepulchral atmosphere and it permeates the moment like a disease spreading its wretched contagion.

He, and the room. _Mundus hic mutus est._

A disruption. The boy. He enters the room and immediately the atmosphere changes. Whether this is a good or bad change does not make itself known. What makes itself known is the face of the ancient bloodsucker; a pained rictus that conceals itself with the clenching of a fist.

Carnivorous routine binds him; he must obey. The awareness of this heavy tradition seats itself on his shoulders and pushes him down further. He looks small, shrinking in the face of his purpose.

"Hello," The boy begins with a vacuous smile, "I'm so sorry to intrude on you but there's a storm brewing and to be outside would be complete suicide. I don't feel like dying tonight." He adds the last part in a joking manner, an afterthought intended to ease the tension that he with curiousity becomes aware of with each passing moment. He is unaware of the irony of this simple remark.

The vampire's gaze is coquettish when it chooses to fix itself on this intruder, destiny’s chosen victim. He tilts his head; the action is a calculated flirtation. The boy doesn't seem to notice this and smiles with the innocence of a child. At this, the nocturnal being's eyes flutter slightly.

"Oh yes," The boy doesn't seem to notice the Other's silence, or perhaps he chooses not to place any importance on it, "I'm such a fool. I'm sorry. My name is Kim Yugyeom. What's yours?"

The creature's eyes blink and he leans back slightly. It isn't a question that he has been asked before and this absurd reality hits him like a punch.

"I...I don't think I've ever had one." His voice has a foreign lilt to it, though exactly where from is unidentifiable. His features do not reveal anything either; he is simply beautiful and anyone who meets him remembers nothing but the perfection of his appearance, no actual detail is ever recalled. But none of those people are alive to affirm or deny this so the truth of that statement remains as obfuscated as where he came from.

"You've never had a name?" The boy - Yugyeom - is very obviously bewildered.

"No," The creature gives a small amused smile at the boy's sweet demeanour, "Would you like to give me one?"

Yugyeom scratches his head and laughs, a small sound that breaks the room from its repugnant sleep. "Oh no sir, I couldn't possibly. It's not my place to."

The routine demands its beginning.

"Believe me when I say this, there is no need to call me sir." He stands and walks towards the boy with celerity in his footsteps. He reaches Yugyeom's nose and gazes up at the boy with nebulous desire.

"You can stay." The unnamed vessel smiles a beautiful, practiced smile at the boy, "If you provide me company, of course."

"Sure." The boy's responding grin reveals no realisation of the innuendo of the request.

The vampire takes the boy's hand and walks ahead, a few quick steps to the bed. He lets go of Yugyeom's hand then and lies back on the bed with a laugh that holds no joy.

"Join me, why don't you?" He smirks and it is purely dissolute.

Yugyeom's eyes widen in realisation and his body reacts before his mind can catch up, his body bewitched easily into submission as he staggers forward onto the bed. But then, he stops. He sees the mask; the posture designed to titillate, the smile fixed to disarm. And he sees through it. He sees the shaking hands and the eyes, filled with deep anguish and exhausted terror. He sees this, when everyone else has not. He sees this, and he _stops_.

"Come," The creature says beguilingly.

"Are you okay?" Yugyeom asks instead.

What. This isn't - there isn't - his mind falters for a response. Every practiced word and action flies out of his head and he reaches futilely towards the boy. But with this action, his hands touch a glass bibelot that has been on the desk longer than the being has been alive and the ornament falls.

With horror, the creature watches it fall and scrambles into a seated position as if to somehow stop its breaking. He is too late and the glass presents itself as shards. With the glass, the ritual breaks. With the ritual, the mechanism breaks. With the mechanism, the creature is destroyed.

"No." The word is an exhale and he leans over the edge and picks up the glass shards, making a desperate attempt to join together what he has broken. But. It is too late. His hands are pricked and the blood that blooms is evidence of ritual broken.

The shards drop from his hands at the shock of blood, at the sight of his _own_ blood, glistening and red and human in a body that is not. Sobs arise in his throat; the mechanism has been broken and there is nothing left to keep at bay this age-old pain.

Yugyeom's hand places itself on the creature's – no, that isn't right – the boy's back and he strokes it; unaware of this pain but empathetic to the suffering it has caused. He makes quiet noises which stick itself like bullets in the broken boy's heart and at first, the vampire pulls away from the touch. But the ubiquitous pain demands to be soothed and the boy finds himself leaning in even as every inch of the house protests for him to _turn away, turn away, turn away_.

Yugyeom sees the blood, and takes the boy's hand, looking around desperately for something to clean it with, and finding nothing, pulls up his shirt, placing it over the bleeding thumb and pressing, all the while whispering sweet nothings. The broken soul is surprised, then confused, and then he shifts closer and looks up. His gaze is honest, and in it is a shocked reverence akin to an injured animal.

"Kim Yugyeom." The words come out like a benediction and Yugyeom stops in his ministrations with surprise. He seems to realise the honesty and weight of the words spoken, though the emotions they induce in him are unfamiliar; he wants to both push the boy away _and_ pull the boy closer. His hands still as he tries to articulate this but the other boy doesn't wait.

There is the joining of lips; a calloused hand reaches up to an unblemished face. A sigh and then more.

They fall asleep together, that night. The storm rages on outside, their bodies sleep in blissful awareness. 

\--

The next day, the boy walks out. Another boy follows. Bright eyes and plump lips and brilliant red hair. It is the vampire, turned human. Sleeping beauty, awoken.

The two boys walk into the woods; the storm has done its damage and now nothing but petrichor and tenuous droplets remain.

They walk into the forest with their hands clasped together. They don't turn back.

The trees begin their whispering; the empty house falls apart.

 

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> So yes! That is it - hope you enjoyed it. It isn't nearly as beautiful or wonderfully ostentatious as Carter's writing but well, I tried. 
> 
> I may do more Carter inspired writing for Yugbam or other ships so if this was interesting, do let me know. It will serve as motivation and God knows I need it.


End file.
